


speak now (or forever hold your peace)

by sadie18 (orphan_account)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Lawyers, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Muggle, Alternate Universe - Wedding Planner, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up, Humor, Idiots in Love, M/M, New York City, Pining, Redemption, Rivalry, Wedding Planning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:16:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/sadie18
Summary: oliver wood's doing pretty well as a wedding planner. new york is good to him. life is good to him. life, more importantly, is simple.after an unexpected client, oliver's simple life goes to shit when he's working alongside the famous, heartless hotshot lawyer marcus flint, the best man- who's also his former nemesis from university and all-round asshole. the only twist is that he's not an asshole anymore.that throws oliver for a loop.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Katie Bell/Alicia Spinnet, Luna Lovegood/Ginny Weasley, Marcus Flint/Oliver Wood, Pansy Parkinson/Blaise Zabini, Terence Higgs/Adrian Pucey, graham montague/daphne greengrass
Comments: 34
Kudos: 260





	1. can you hear the bells ringing?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> songs to listen to while reading:  
> take it or leave it, cage the elephant  
> big fat mouth, arlie  
> hot rod, dayglow
> 
> my tumblr; oliivverwood xo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr; @oliivverwood xo

Oliver almost collapses onto his bed, shoes and all, after Ginny and Luna's wedding. 

Not that it hadn't been a beautiful wedding- albeit he might be a _bit_ biased, him being the wedding planner and all, but Molly Weasley was a _force_ to be reckoned with, especially when it came to her only daughter's wedding. The past months had been a flurry of screaming at caterers, flower shops and enough cake to feed a small country. But the tears welling in Ginny's eyes, and the beam on Luna's face had been completely worth it. Oliver might have sniffled a little too, when they had their first slow dance as wife and wife, but he'd never admit it.

It's hard work, it's honest work. Oliver enjoys it. He loves love. He loves helping people in love. It pays well, well enough for Oliver to have a large apartment in the middle of Brooklyn and on-demand sports on his television.

No, Oliver doesn't mind this job at all.

* * *

It's only a few days from then that Oliver takes it all back, burying his head in his hands. 

"They're not that bad anymore!" Percy argues, his face looking sheepish. "I mean, they're so happy and in love, I _had_ to refer them to the best wedding planner in New York City!"

Oliver looks up from his hands, glaring at Percy, who cowers a little. "You're just saying that to make up for this absolute _shitstorm_ I'm about to get into."

Percy waves his hand. "Semantics. You're being dramatic." 

Oliver's mouth drops open, and Percy winces. 

"You referred _Daphne Greengrass and Graham Montague to me!"_ Oliver all but shrieks, earning them a few strange looks from around the coffee shop. 

Percy worked at a big, fancy law firm in Manhattan, where he dallied with the richest and most influential of New York. That's where he interacted with Daphne, and her NFL husband Graham, on a near daily basis.

Percy mumbled something incoherent under his breath, and Oliver shoots daggers at him, daring him to raise his voice. Frankly, Percy's never had fantastic social skills with anyone that wasn't an authority figure, so he repeats himself.

"I _know_ Graham was a complete asshole to you in unive-"

"He called me slurs on a daily- no, _hourly_ basis." Oliver reminded him sourly. "And Greengrass wasn't much better. So was anyone that associated with that stupid football team."

"Okay, yes, I get it, big basketball versus football rivalry." Percy backs off, holding his hands up innocently. "If you don't want to take it, then you don't have to. I'm just going to say that yes, they were dickheads in college, but I _swear_ they've grown up. Really, Daphne's quite nice. I'll remind you that Greengrass' father is on the city council, and Graham's dad literally owns the firm. It's _literally_ called Montague Inc. It'll be the wedding of the century, elite flying in from all over the world to celebrate and see a wedding that _you_ planned. Not only would you make a _fuck ton_ of money off of this wedding, you'd also get a _fuck ton_ more business opportunities. And if Graham or Daphne are assholes to you again, I'll yell at them myself, big shot parents be damned." 

Oliver is quiet for a second. Then another. Percy is anxious, waiting for Oliver to comment. 

Oliver sighs. "They need to make an official booking with me to begin a consultation." 

Percy claps his hand eagerly, like a child on Christmas Day, and Oliver rolls his eyes as a smile finds its way onto his face, the anticipation of a big project frazzling his nerves.

* * *

Graham Montague and Daphne Greengrass have grown up. 

The first thing they do before they sit down is shake his hand. 

"I just want to say, Mr Wood, that I apologise for treating you the way I did in university." Daphne says quietly, gripping his hand. "I hope we can put our past differences aside- you're one of the best planners in the state, and this is a big day, but I do understand if you have some doubts about working with us." Graham nods, his eyes apologetic and soft.

"It's all in the past." Oliver dismisses. "Please, call me Oliver. You two make a beautiful couple- please, sit. Tea, coffee?"

Daphne Greengrass is the same beautiful blonde heiress that she was in college, but she now emanated class, her Chanel No. 5 perfume wafting in the air, her posture absolutely perfect, face schooled into an absolutely unreadable expression. Graham's always been big, being the football player he is, and he fills out his sharp, tailored shirt and slacks quite nicely. 

Oliver wasn't lying- they _did_ make a beautiful couple. 

"So, you've been together since university, correct?" Oliver jots down on a notepad. "How long have you been engaged?" 

Daphne lays a hand softly on Graham's. "Six months." 

They chat amicably for a few more minutes, Oliver getting to know his clients better, before they begin wedding related business.

"Give me some quick ideas, visions, rough estimate of number of guests, a date, really anything related to this wedding."

And so their two hours went, Daphne and Graham feeling more comfortable as the clock ticks on. Oliver has a few pages of notes, a brainstorm that would look like a mess to anyone that wasn't him, but his initial apprehension is fading away into a tingly feeling of excitement. 

"If you could set a time with me to introduce your maid of honour and best man, and perhaps your families if you wish, we can get started any time within the next week." Oliver says warmly, shutting his notebook with a snap. Graham and Daphne are smiling, looking at each other happily, and Oliver really understands that they _did_ mature.

Maybe Percy wasn't such a shit friend after all. 

* * *

The wedding in March. This leaves Oliver just under three months to plan this wedding.

It's not impossible. It'll be hard, a wedding of this magnitude, but it's not impossible. Oliver's managed worse. Besides, he had his trusted Angelina, Katie and George working with him as well. 

Challenging. Not impossible. Oliver kept this in mind as he started organising contacts. 

The day comes that Oliver is meeting Graham's best man and Daphne's maid of honour. They meet in Oliver's office again, discussing guest lists and scheduling meetings for tailoring, dress shopping, cake tasting, catering, music- Oliver realises, there's a _lot_ to get done, _fuck-_

Challenging. Not impossible. 

Graham and Daphne walk into his office hand in hand, looking excited, if not a bit nervous. Behind them is a petite woman with dark hair and a face _very_ similar to Daphne's, and a tall, dark, cleanly dressed-

_Oh._

Oliver knew this man. 

He should've predicted that Marcus Flint would be Graham Montague's best man. 

Marcus Flint looked as much as the surly, grouchy man that Oliver had known in university, this time with an expensive watch and a sharply tailored suit, looking all the big and intimidating lawyer was supposed to be. His face was sharper, his teeth still crooked, but he'd cleaned up. He cleaned up _well._

Oliver doesn't flinch. Nor does Marcus. 

"This is Astoria, my sister and maid of honour." Daphne introduces, and Astoria gives a shy smile, waving her fingers politely. "And you know Marcus." 

"I do." Oliver says simply. "Pleasure to meet you, Astoria. Please, have a seat." 

Once they were all settled, Oliver began the process of getting to know the maid of honour and best man. It was important that he was able to work well with them- they'd be dealing with a lot of the wedding planning, as well. 

"I'm a doctor." Astoria says, and Oliver likes her- she's soft-spoken, but obviously a strong, independent woman. 

"I'm a divorce attorney." Marcus announces bluntly, and Oliver double-takes. Graham chuckles slightly at the reaction

"Is it bad luck?" He asks, with humour, and Oliver, smiles too, glancing at Marcus, giving him a once-over.

"No, no- just, er, quite uncommon, I suppose." Oliver reassures him. "I hope we don't get the same clients, then, Marcus." 

Maybe it's a trick of the eyes, but Marcus' mouth twitches upwards. 

* * *

Oliver blanches at the guest list. 

"300 people!" Oliver waves the papers around while Angelina winces. "300 people!" 

"Okay, deep breaths, Wood." Angelina says soothingly. "Venue first."

"Already been decided." He shoots back. "Montague's are good friends with the Warringtons. They're getting the ballroom at a _dirt_ cheap price."

Angelina's eyes widened. "Like, _Warrington-Hotel_ -Warringtons?" 

Oliver nods and she squeals in excitement. 

"Oh, Oliver, that place is _beautiful!"_ She claps her hands. "It's _so-"_

"Schmoozy?" Oliver interrupted. "Gaudy? Over-the-top?" 

"Well, I was going to say fancy and dreamy, but it definitely can be those things too." She said. "Who's helping with the guest lists, then?" 

"Well, _you're_ going to be dress hunting with Daphne, Astoria and George, and Marcus is going to be here with Katie and I." 

Angelina pouted. "Guest lists are way more fun." 

"That's because you like hearing all the gossip about the guests. Shoo! George is already at the boutique- you're meeting them there in a half hour- Angie, what use is the group calendar if you don't even _read it-"_

"Hush, Ol." She flicked him. "I'm going. Don't miss me too much." 

"Send Katie in before you leave, woman!" 

* * *

Marcus arrives looking a little more frazzled than Oliver was used to seeing him- which honestly didn't mean much, because the appointment last week was the first time Oliver had seen him in years. But his tie was loose, his jacket in one hand and a sleek leather briefcase in another. His top button was unbuttoned. 

Oliver doesn't know how to feel about this arrangement, really. 

"Sorry I'm late." Marcus mumbles hastily, setting down his briefcase and jacket haphazardly. "Work." 

"You're only ten minutes behind, bud." Katie says, amused. "How're ya doing, Flint?" 

Marcus' eyes widen as he recognises Katie. "Bell?"

She grins. "The one and only." 

"Ah." He says faintly. "You look well. Is there anyone else that I was an idiot to in university that you work with, Wood?" 

"Angelina and George are dress hunting with Daphne right now." Oliver says cheerfully. The way Marcus' face scrunches is comical. 

"Fuck." He curses, than flinches. "Sorry!" 

Katie looks at him in awe. "Who are you and what have you done with the _neanderthal_ I knew at school?"

Marcus winces. "I deserved that." 

Oliver snorts. "You deserve much more than that, Flint, which is why you're doing guest lists with us. By the time these hours are over, you're going to want to throw yourself off the Empire State." 

Marcus lifts his chin, the challenging rival that Oliver knew in university. "Can't be any worse than the case I just had to close- bring it on, Wood." 

* * *

"Pansy _can't_ sit at the same table as Chang. Chang wrote that _scathing_ article about the Parkinsons in the Times, remember?"

Marcus looks like he's ready to rip his hair out at this point- it's fun to watch, really. He'd had to fill them in on every piece of drama that plagued the many Upper East Siders that would be attending the wedding- not that Oliver and Katie didn't know their fair share of it. 

"Okay, where do we put Hannah Abbott?" Katie says, pulling a pen out of the knot of hair on her head. Marcus groans

"Nowhere near Longbottom. I had to do their divorce case two months ago." He grumbles. Katie gasps. 

"I knew were a lawyer, but you're a _divorce attorney?"_ Katie all but shrieks. "You're in enemy territory!" 

"Wait a minute." Oliver grouses. "We planned their wedding! They barely lasted half a year!" 

Marcus waves a hand. "Not my issue, Wood. Abbott was being shady, Longbottom wanted her to sign a prenup after a few months of her ransacking his credit cards, she refused, had a meltdown. She sued him, he sued her, Augusta Longbottom filed a restraining order- _ugh_ , I don't even want to get into it." 

"That wedding was gorgeous." Katie mutters. "I busted serious ass booking that venue." 

Marcus shrugs. "Sorry." He says, not sounding very sorry at all. Oliver glares at him, and Marcus rolls his eyes in return.

There. That was the asshole Oliver knew from university. He knows that this reformed, cleaned up Marcus Flint is an _act._

"I'm going to run to Starbucks, my treat. Americano, no milk, no sugar for Oliver- Flint, do you want anything?" 

Marcus looks at Oliver strangely. "Uh- I get the same thing. Thanks, Bell." 

The silence between them is awkward, stilted, and Oliver is tapping his pen against the table nervously. He's about to crack a _god-awful_ joke, just so there's _something_ to break the quiet, but Marcus beats him to it.

"Look, Wood." He blurts, cringing at himself, then straightening up again. "I'm sorry. I was an asshole to you in school."

Oliver smiles awkwardly. "Well, I wasn't exactly an angel to you either." 

"I always provoked it." Marcus admits guiltily. "You would've never acted up if I hadn't started it. I was shit to you from the beginning." 

Oliver pauses for a second, then nods. "Yeah. But it's in the past. Don't worry about it." 

The silence comes back. It feels even thicker this time. 

"How come you didn't go pro?" Oliver breaks the silence this time. Marcus' face darkens, and Oliver realises he's touched a nerve. 

"Folks didn't think football fit in with the Flint culture." He says casually, but his pained eyes betray that it's not casual, not at all. "It was just a hobby."

"Nobody's the draft first-pick as a _hobby."_ Oliver snorts.

"Well, why didn't _you_ go pro?" Marcus challenged. "You were the best player in the NCAA." 

Oliver's heartstrings twinge slightly. 

"Tore my ACL." He says ruefully. "I can't even run for more than a half hour without collapsing." 

Marcus looks slightly saddened at that. "I'm sorry." 

Oliver grins. "Don't be. I got over it years ago. And now I have this business. I get to work with my friends and watch people fall in love. It's great." 

Marcus doesn't lose the sad eyes when he quietly says, "must be nice."

Oliver pretends he doesn't hear him.


	2. love to hate it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> wedding planning is well and truly underway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs to listen to while reading:
> 
> better, khalid  
> find me, sigma and birdy  
> heartburn, wafia

Oliver's calendar is a _mess._

It's a jumble of coloured sticky-notes with only minute differences in hue, Oliver's chicken scrawl combined with George's loopy handwriting, big red circles and crossed out appointments. It makes him want to cry just looking at it.

It's times like this when Oliver misses basketball. It had always been good for his stress, and _this_ certainly qualified as a stressful situation.

The guest list had taken two sessions to sort out, and a third when Daphne brought news that, in fact, the Notts _would_ be able to attend. 

(Marcus looked like he was ready to drop to the floor and let the ground swallow him wholewhen he heard).

But it was normal. Business as usual- nothing different from what he was used to. 

* * *

Angelina, George and Astoria had decided that they would be taking care of dressing the bridal party, music, decor, and staffing. This left Oliver with cake, catering, dressing the groomsmen and flowers. Graham and Daphne had done their fair share, providing them with resources and taking care of invitations and venue. 

Today they're cake tasting. Astoria, Graham and Daphne arrive promptly, Marcus trailing right behind them, scowling as he holds a phone to his ear. 

"No, ma'am, you _can't_ file an annulment order _for_ your sister and her husband. They have to do it herself.." He snapped, his subtle Jersey accent beginning to thicken with frustration, nodding politely at Oliver. "You want them to split up because he cheated on her? He cheated on her with _you?_ " Marcus holds his phone away from his ear disgustedly for a second, and Oliver faintly hears a lady in hysterics on the other end. Daphne holds a hand to her mouth to hide a smile. "You want them to split up because _you're in love with him?_ Ma'am- yes, I am _the_ Marcus Flint, if you're going to put it that way- I think I _do_ know what I'm doing, miss, and I request that you _don't_ speak to me like that- okay, you know what, lady? I'm off work hours now, so I'm going to actually suggest that you go to _relationship counselling_. Now if you'll excuse me, I've got places to be- okay, _mhm,_ keep talking like that, see where that gets your dumb high school love triangle. Grow up." Marcus pokes his phone violently before shoving it in his pocket.

Oliver's choking back laughter at this point. 

"That-" Daphne remarks drily. "- was the famous Marcus Flint for you."

Graham sighs affectionately. "I don't know how you manage to keep your job, speaking to potential clients like that." 

Marcus balks, offended. "You know what? Number one- I'm Marcus Flint, clients know what they're getting into. Number two- _she_ wasn't a potential client, that was a woman who's _supremely_ fucked her sister's marriage. _They'll_ be my potential clients." 

Oliver clears his throat. "Now that you're all finished with your- whatever that was, we have cakes to taste. This is my friend Alicia's bakery and cafe. I may be a bit biased, but I'd say she does the best wedding cake in the state. And if you're lucky, you'll get a couple free pastries from her after your wedding." He winks.

Astoria claps eagerly. Alicia meets them at the front, smiling warmly. 

"Welcome." She says, and Oliver lets her take it from there. Astoria sees an old friend of her's from med school, and goes to chat with her. 

"I'm going to go through cake designs with Graham and Daphne in the office." Alicia squeezed Oliver's arm. "We won't be long. Then I'll bring out samples for everyone." 

"Do you have lemon?" Oliver whispers excitedly, and Alicia rolls her eyes.

"Who do you think I am? Of _course_ I have lemon." 

Oliver literally moans. Out loud. Alicia giggles and Marcus looks scandalised, his cheeks heating up.

Alicia joins the engaged couple in her back office, leaving Oliver and Marcus alone in the bakery. 

"So." Oliver says, sitting down at one of the petite tables and chairs. "You're famous, eh?" 

Marcus shakes his his head. "I- _uh-_ I've been told that I come highly recommended."

He waves a waitress over. "I'll pay- Americano, no milk no sugar, right?" 

Oliver nods, not really sure why the fact Marcus remembered his order pleased him so much. 

"Besides, you're the exact same." Marcus continues. "Your wedding planning service is popular. I just didn't know you ran it." 

Oliver smirks. "It's okay if you've been keeping tabs on me, Flint." 

"Shut up." Marcus scowls. "I knew that your company did Pansy and husband number three's wedding." 

Oliver can't contain the sudden laugh that escapes him. "Wait, husband number _three?_ You mean _Ernie?_ "

"Number one was Draco- but he's gay, so really, that was never going to work out. I divorced them. Then, husband number two- some guy named Zachary Smith, some English slime that was after her money, so I divorced them as well. Husband number three- I mean, _Ernie-_ I don't even think they decided to have a huge wedding for it- he cheated on her. So I divorced them." 

"Well, how is she now?" Oliver gasps.

Marcus shrugs. "Dating Blaise Zabini- been going strong for about a year now. I think he might be the one for her- but she's my cousin, so if she needs another divorce, I guess I'll _have_ to do it."

"Pansy Parkinson, the editor-in-chief of Vogue, is your _cousin?"_ Oliver hisses, the waiter who was bringing their coffees flinching. 

"Don't be tricked." Marcus grouses. "She's a menace. She used to pop my footballs so she could experiment with the leather." 

Oliver snorts loudly. "A crime of fashion."

"She popped basketballs too, buddy, don't get comfortable."

They continue their bicker for another half hour, bitching and biting each other and Oliver is pleasantly surprised at how much he's enjoying Marcus' company, at how much he's changed and how _easy_ their conversation was. 

Oliver's inner monologue is interrupted by Alicia coming back into the cafe, Daphne and Graham right behind her. Astoria's still wound up in conversation with her friend. 

"Okay, now we can begin the fun part." Alicia rubs her hands together eagerly. 

In the back kitchen, about fifteen different small cakes are laid out on pretty little cake dishes. They range from simple vanilla to black forest to red velvet and Oliver's eyes bug out, like they always do, and always will, no matter how many times he brings clients here. 

Daphne is instantly drawn to the simple vanilla with elegant white icing, but Graham begins to make a case for the chocolate cake with white chocolate icing. Alicia cuts everyone small slices, and everyone's chattering about the cakes and how _good_ they are and Alicia's glowing with the praise and Oliver really, really loves his job-

"You have icing on your face." Marcus snorts. "Dumbass." 

"Shit." Oliver sighs. "This always happens." He pokes his tongue out, licking his upper lip, then his bottom lip. Marcus rolls his eyes, and Oliver doesn't really notice how they've widened, how there's a flush creeping up the white collar of his shirt.

"No, it's like- to the right- no, Wood, your _other_ right- look, let me just."

And suddenly Marcus is in Oliver's space, his thumb swiping at a spot on the corner of his mouth, rubbing it away. Oliver doesn't remember Marcus having freckles before, but now they're clear as day on his clean shaven face, speckling his nose and cheekbones. 

"How silly of me." Oliver murmurs lightly, and Marcus stepped back as easily as he stepped forward, smirking slightly. 

"That was only slice number four. Let's see if you can get through the next five without making a mess." Marcus grumbles, but it lacks malice. 

Oliver tries to avoid getting icing on his face for the rest of the session.

* * *

He and Marcus go pretty far back, Oliver realises as he sits on his patio, nursing a beer. 

They had lived across from one another in the dormitories in university, and they'd instantly hated each other. Their was already a built in rivalry, Oliver being on the basketball team, Marcus on the football team. 

They'd sabotaged each other as much as possible- Oliver would fill his locker with shaving cream, or Marcus would take his clothes away while he was in the shower. Harmless pranks, mostly. 

Then Oliver came out- the only out and proud bisexual on the basketball team and football team _combined._

That was where shit hit the fan. 

Oliver got frequent comments from the football team- _poof,_ or _fairy,_ or the other very bad no-no word that Oliver didn't even like _thinking_ about. 

Marcus had continued hating on Oliver, but it was so much _sharper,_ crueller and _angry._ He never called Oliver any names, nor did he even mention _it_ , really, but they began to despise each other with an even deeper sense of mutual disgust with one another. 

Percy would often remark that they were obsessed with one another- that they couldn't do anything without thinking about the other's reaction. Which was ridiculous. Oliver wasn't _obsessed_ with Marcus. That would imply _caring_ about him. 

And Oliver Wood didn't give a _fuck_ about Marcus Flint.

Then they graduated and never heard from each other again. 

Oliver heard whispers in the branches that made up New York- that Marcus was a big, hotshot lawyer, heartless and emotionless and _wickedly_ good at his job. Oliver never saw that coming- Marcus honestly hadn't been that good at school and acted like a caveman, most of the time.

Things had changed. Marcus had grown up. And so had Oliver. 

Oliver dwells on this as he sips his beer, looking over his little street in Brooklyn. 

* * *

Oliver begins to look forward to his meetings with the best man. It's strange, the effect that time and space has on people- that he'd be excited to see someone that used to fill him with a sense of dread. 

Katie and Oliver walk into the tailor's, where Graham is waiting with the rest of the groomsmen. Marcus is on the phone in the corner of the store, quietly hissing something angrily. Oliver shudders- he wouldn't want to be on the other end of that phone call.

"Wood! Bell!" Graham bounces up from where he's sitting. "Let me introduce you to the rest of the boys. You know Warrington, Bole and Higgs. This is Adrian Pucey- he's from Canada, but he plays for the Rangers."

"Nice to meet you!" Adrian shakes Oliver's hand vigorously, what he was lacking in tact he made up for in enthusiasm. The rest of the groomsmen look uncomfortable as they realise _Oliver Wood_ was here. 

"Warrington. Bole. Higgs." Oliver nods politely. "Alright, Montague, let's get started."

The plan for their tuxedos were normal- plain black tuxes, white collar shirt and a bowtie. The groom would wear a simple black bowtie, the best man wearing red, and the rest of the groomsmen wearing blue. There would be flowers in their lapels, to match the flowers that Daphne would carry down the aisle. 

Oliver ushers Graham, Warrington and Bole to get fitted first, shooing them into the tailoring room. Katie is conversing with Adrian, who seems to be animatedly talking about hockey. Higgs, for some strange reason, is looking at him fondly, emanating warmth. 

Oliver goes instead to talk to Marcus, who's just gotten off the phone, looking murderous. 

"Tough client?" Oliver chirps, and Marcus' face lifts a little, slipping his phone into his back pocket. 

"I have to go to court in a few days." Marcus complained. "I hate court." 

Oliver giggles a bit at Marcus' whinging, and Katie steps over, raising her eyebrows slightly at him before smoothing her face over again. 

"So was anybody going to tell me that Terence Higgs' is Captain Canada's puck bunny?" Katie demands in a whisper. "Or was I supposed to just figure it out myself?"

Marcus' eyes bug out. "They told you?"

"What's a puck bunny?" Oliver asks at the same time, confused. 

Katie rolls her eyes, ignoring Oliver. "They didn't tell me anything, but it's obvious. Doesn't Higgs own a physiotherapy firm? Is that where they met? How romantic!"

Marcus whistles lowly. "You're too smart, Bell. It's supposed to be on the down low. Keep it to yourself." 

Katie pretends to zip her mouth and lock it, swallowing the key. Oliver is only just getting it.

"They're _dating?"_ He hisses. "Terence Higgs is dating a _man?"_ He looked over at the pair, who were closer than usual "pals" were, their knuckles brushing, and talking in soft tones. 

"Wood, be _quiet!"_ Marcus snaps, flicking Oliver in the face. 

Oliver wants to _laugh._ He doesn't, because that would be rude _and_ extremely unprofessional. But he wants to. 

"He was one of your 'hate-on-Oliver-Wood-because-he's-bisexual' crew in university!" Oliver is incredulous, a quiet anger simmering within him. Marcus glares at him. 

"Firstly, there was no _crew,_ and second of all, if there was, it wouldn't be _mine."_ He snaps. "I- _Higgs_ was scared." 

"Oliver's just mad that his gaydar was broken." Katie says calmly, stepping between them. "Boys, the past is in the past." 

Marcus just grunts, crossing his large arms, and Oliver rolls his eyes. 

"Whatever. Montague, Warrington and Bole should be done any second now." Oliver says. "Get ready." 

And with that, he turns on his foot, and walks inside to talk to the tailor, leaving Marcus to watch him go.

* * *

"You have a bit of a crush on Flint." Katie singsongs. Oliver looks at her like she's insane- which she is, for saying something so _ridiculous._

Katie, Angelina, George are gathered in Oliver's apartment, breaking out a bottle of wine and unwinding after a long week.

"Oliver has a _what_ on Flint?" George gasps. " _Marcus_ Flint?"

"Katie, what the _fuck_ are you saying-" Oliver exclaims, scandalised that she'd even _suggest_ such a _blasphemous_ notion. "-that's- _what?"_

"Come on, I _so_ saw you guys at the tailor today- you laughing with him and giving him big googly-eyes- Wood, you're _not_ slick." Katie says excitedly, sipping her wine. "And Alicia told me that you two were like, in your own little world at cake-tasting, and he wiped icing off your mouth-"

"He did _what?"_ George shrieks. "Oh my _god-_ like in the movies!" 

Angelina squeals. "Marcus Flint, one of the _top_ lawyers in New York, known for basically being a _robot_ who smiles once a _year,_ took the liberty of wiping _frosting off_ your _mouth."_

"Marcus is _straight."_ Oliver hisses. "And I _don't_ have a _crush-_ that's _so_ high school, and I'm a _grown man._ Also, he's not a _robot-_ he's a pretty average guy-"

"Shut _up,_ Oliver, Alicia told me that she left you two outside and when she came back you guys were all chatty and smiley and giggly."

Oliver's cheeks are heating up, and he continues to weakly tell them to shut up. 

"I'm going to say this _once!"_ And Oliver raises his hands dramatically, and okay, maybe he's a _bit_ tipsy. "I do _not_ have a crush on Marcus Flint. I used to _hate him-_ and now, while I _don't_ hate him, I am interacting with him on a _strictly_ professional level. I am a _professional,_ ladies and George! Just because he and I have a lot in common, and he's successful and smart and actually has a sense of humour and learned how to pluck his eyebrows, does _not_ mean I've suddenly got the hots for him!" 

Katie and Angelina look at him in awe, while George looks like he's going to throw up. 

"That last bit was practically a love letter." George says grimly. "But for my sake, we're going to move on."

Oliver thanks all the stars when George starts his story about seeing a rat on the subway, and not more than an hour later, the three of them have left and Oliver's in his house alone. 

When Oliver finally crashes into his bed, he feels an underlying sense of alarm when he falls asleep picturing Marcus Flint scowling in his fitted, tailored suit. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are appreciated; my tumblr is oliivverwood xo


	3. morning intentions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oliver's mind is going a mile a minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> songs to listen to: 
> 
> i'll be good, jaymes young  
> cringe, matt maeson  
> 1950, king princess

Oliver is in deep shit.

Deep, _deep_ shit.

Because in the midst of his hangover daze and his lazy morning, Oliver is thinking _way_ too much. 

Katie says he has a crush on Marcus Flint. This was a claim with no evidence to it's name, nor was it even a considerably reliable statement. 

But it nagged at Oliver all through the early morning. 

Marcus would be the _last person_ Oliver would have a crush on. The _last._

Oliver's had the misfortune of falling for straight guys in the past- one of them being George's older brother, Charlie; then there had been Cedric, the pretty swimmer from high school-

Yeah, he wasn't going down _that_ route again.

Oliver sniffs with vehemence that Katie's managed to get her meddling little claws into his brain, gulping at his now lukewarm coffee. 

Marcus and Oliver had been closely connected in university, sure, but for all the wrong reasons. They'd visited the dean's office on more than one occasion, dented multiple lockers in changing rooms while fighting, and had disturbed many a lecture by bickering in the halls. They'd become famous at the health centre, nursing black eyes, broken noses and split lips. 

Oliver doesn't even realise he's been sitting on his sofa for an hour, mulling it all over with an empty mug in his hands until Katie's letting herself in- it's only then he realises there's an hour till noon, and they're supposed to work on the wedding for a couple hours.

"That key is for emergencies." Oliver sighs, and Katie is looking over at him, raking him up and down.

"What's wrong with you?" She snickers, setting down bags of snacks and her notebook. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, Katie-"

"You look a million miles away, Ollie." Her face splits into a ' _eureka!'_ expression, filling Oliver with a sense of impending doom. "This isn't about _Flint,_ is it?" 

Oliver scowls deeply, shaking his head furiously, but his stupid pale complexion and tendency to blush beats him to it, and Katie is squealing like a child. 

"I _knew_ it!" She shrieks, plopping herself down next to him heavily, digging her feet under his thighs. "Tell me _everything."_

"I was just thinking about university, that's all." He mumbles, staring at the dredges of coffee ground at the bottom of his cup. "Katie, don't be ridiculous- I don't like Flint, not like _that-_ I mean, we _hated_ each other at school."

"Oh, Ollie." She pats him affectionately. "I'm quite aware you hated him in university. All you would talk about was ' _Flint did this'_ or ' _Flint did that.'_ Daphne told him that he was the exact same, actually, about you. My last and only comment on this is that there's a fine line between love and hate-"

"That's _so cheesy_." Oliver mutters. "And it's stupid." 

"- now, let's get started- these appointments don't make themselves, you know!"

* * *

Luna Lovegood- actually, now Lovegood- _Weasley_ , is Oliver's favourite and most trusted florist. Her shop is dreamy, sweet smelling and professional, and she may be a little eccentric, but god _damn_ does she know her way around flowers.

Graham is unable to make it, today, which leaves Daphne, Astoria, Katie and Marcus. 

Seeing Marcus again after their little tiff makes Oliver feel a little bit awkward, but surprisingly, he's chatting quietly with Luna, smiling at her kindly and with full attention even while she's rambling about soil conditions and water measurements. Then he's saying something to her discreetly, quietly, glancing around the shops as if paranoid. 

Marcus was tall, broad, and _expensive_ looking- he wore suits that looked like they costed Oliver's _rent_ to dry-clean, had different watches on every day, was clean shaven and _classy._ He wore sandalwood cologne that was subtle enough that you could only smell it when you were close to him. 

Which Oliver had been. At the cake-tasting. 

God, he _couldn't_ let Katie be right about this. It would be _devastating._

"Luna told Astoria and Daphne to discuss colours, arrangements, et-cetera, and to have a look around her shop and in her display books." Katie says, knocking Oliver's arm with her elbow. "You suck at florals." 

"I know." Oliver bemoans. "I know jack _shit_ about flowers." 

"You're just the pretty face of this operation, Wood." She pats his hand condescendingly, and he growls at her half-heartedly. 

Marcus shuffles over to them awkwardly, and maybe Oliver's imagining it, but Marcus is trying and failing at avoiding looking at him. 

Oliver's always had an overactive imagination. He shrugs it off, but a soft, warm feeling envelopes him. 

"Do you know Luna?" Katie asks. Marcus nods. 

"Yeah." He says simply. The silence afterwards stretches, and Katie impatiently gestures for him to elaborate. 

"How?"

He scratches the back of his neck- now, he's _definitely_ avoiding Oliver with his eyes, and mumbles something too quiet and incoherent for them to catch. 

"What?" 

"I _said,"_ Marcus mutters. "That I used to get my ex-boyfriend flowers from here." 

Oliver's mouth had always worked faster than his brain. 

"Oh, of course, Luna's the best florist on the Upper East Side, in my opinion, but I don't know much about flow- _wait."_

Oliver couldn't have heard that right.

_Impossible._

This had to be the universe's idea of a joke. And it wasn't very funny. 

"So, I actually came over to you guys to tell you that I've been called back into the office, which I'm really sorry about." Marcus scrunches his face in distaste, actively ignoring Oliver's shocked stare. "I've got to go now."

"Aw, look at our big-city lawyer." Katie coos mockingly, the picture of calm. "Go on, Rome won't burn while you're away. Ta!" 

And as quickly as Marcus had come, he was gone, the only proof of him ever have been there evident by the little bell jingling on the shop's door.

* * *

"We must have misheard him." Oliver mumbles. "There is absolutely _no_ chance that he said that."

"That he had an ex- _boyfriend?"_ Katie says, setting down a coffee in front of him. They're sat in the same cafe where Percy had started this whole wedding mess. 

"It's _Marcus Flint._ " Oliver hisses when he burns his lips on hot coffee. "Fuck!"

"Aw, baby, maybe you could get Flint to come kiss it better." She teases, and Oliver glares at her. 

"Don't. Even. Go there." He mutters.

Katie rolls her eyes. "He would never have brought it up if he didn't want you to know, Oliver. And did you see him looking at you? And pretending he wasn't? It was adorable."

Oliver had, in fact, seen that, but he refuses to give Katie the pleasure of being right, so he sniffs crankily instead. 

"Or maybe he's apologetic and just wanted me to know that all of his cruelty to me in university came from a place of repression and anger." Oliver says primly, and he thinks that sounds very clever, _really,_ he might have to use that line again-

"He wants to _fuck."_

" _Katie!"_ Oliver gasps, but his traitorous face is going ruddy and Katie's snorting at him. "You're fired." 

"And then who's going to do coffee runs and PR for you then, huh?" She giggles, and _dammit,_ she's _right._

"Fine." Oliver snaps. "Maybe I'm interested. Only slightly. And it's mostly curiosity. Happy?" 

Katie squeals, clapping her hands like a kid on Christmas Day. Then her face falls, and she begins to pout.

"We only have appointments with Graham and Daphne for the next week!" She groans. "You're not going to get to see Flint!"

"Good." Oliver scowls. "Then I have time to get rid of these silly thoughts." 

Katie wiggles her eyebrows. "Distance makes the heart grow fonder, Wood- be careful what you wish for." 

* * *

It's two days later when Oliver is arriving home after having a long argument with caterers- he's exhausted, cranky, and is in desperate need of more than four hours of sleep. 

There's something on his doorstep. 

He steps over cautiously, inspecting it, before he realises that somebody's sent him flowers. 

Not just any bouquet of flowers. 

A personalised arrangement from _Luna's._

He goes inside holding it, tossing all of his belongings on the couch haphazardly, gently digging through the bouquet to find a note, an indication of who sent it to him. 

It's elegant, expensive parchment, with an embossed _Montague Inc._ pressed in gold on the top. 

_'Wood,_

_A token of appreciation for all that you're doing for my friends, even with our issues in the past._

_I hope that you see we're not too different after all._

_M.F.'_

On the back, there was another note- but it wasn't in Marcus' strict, tidy handwriting. 

' _Oliver,_

_I'm not one to write in a client's order, but Marcus is my friend, so I'm allowed to (heehee!)_

_I suggest you search up some flower meanings. He picked them out himself, you know._

_I've written his number below, as well as the type of flowers in this bouquet, if you want to thank him :)_

_Love, Luna Lovegood-Weasley'_

Oliver laughs out loud at the gall of Luna, imagining her giggling to herself as she packed the note into the bunch. Oliver snaps a quick picture to send to Katie, Angelina and George, knowing that they'd get a kick out of it.

He goes to his computer, bouquet still in hand. 

_Purple hyacinths are a flower that asks for forgiveness._

_Blue salvias are a symbolism of, "thinking of you."_

_Daffodils represent new beginnings._

Oliver is surprised, but he's pleased, excited and simply _happy._

Katie, Angelina and George are blowing up his phone, so he decides to humour them, opening their messages.

* * *

_ Oliver and Co.  _

**katie** : no fuckin way

 **angelina** : what???

 **george** : who are those from

 **katie** : flint

 **george:** NO WAY

 **angelina:** WHy

 **katie:** flint has it hot for oliver

 **katie:** and it's reciprocated

 **katie:** are those blue salvias???!?!?!?!

 **george:** ew i know what those mean

 **angelina:** WHAT

 **george:** it means "thinking of you"

 **george:** what a revolting display of emotion from flint. i expected better from new york's resident satan

 **katie:** he's honestly not so bad

 **katie:** just awkward

 **angelina:** not awkward enough to avoid making moves on our BOSS

 **george:** i thought he was straight

 **katie:** nope

 **katie:** he mentioned an ex boyfriend today

 **angelina:** this is certainly a development why were we not informed of this

 **oliver:** stop gossiping

 **oliver:** it's rude

 **katie:** shut up

 **george:** yeah shut up

 **angelina:** do you have his number

 **oliver:** yeah luna gave it to me

 **george:** wood if you don't call him i'm going to murder you and take over the business

 **oliver:** impossible

 **oliver:** you suck at booking appointments

 **george:** damn

 **george:** call him

 **oliver:** it's almost eleven

 **angelina:** lawyers have flexible hours

 **oliver:** but wedding planners don't

 **oliver:** i'm tired and will 187% make a fool of myself

 **katie:** fine

 **katie:** tomorrow morning or we'll murder you and take over the business

 **angelina:** i'm excellent at booking appointments

 **oliver:** fired. i hate you guys.

 **george:** we love you too

* * *

The next morning, before Oliver's even realised it, he's punched in the phone number and it's ringing.

Fuck.

It's _ringing._

He's got half a mind to start pointing at the _end call_ button, but it's too late. 

" _Hello?"_

Oliver breathes deeply, steeling himself. 

It's _just_ Flint. 

"Hi." Oliver starts, pleased with how his voice doesn't crack. "It's Oliver." 

" _Oh! Hi. How'd you get my number? Not that it's unwelcome or anything, I mean- fuck, sorry, I woke up like five minutes ago-"_

His voice is rough, morning-harsh and low, even through the tinny microphone of Oliver's phone. It sends shivers up Oliver's spine.

"Sorry! I didn't mean to disturb you." Oliver exclaims, glad that Marcus couldn't see how red his face was going. "Luna gave it to me. With the flowers. That you sent. But you already knew you sent them-"

Marcus snorts. " _Good to know neither of us are functioning at a respectable rate this morning. I don't feel like so much of an idiot now._

"Oi." Oliver argues half-heartedly. "That's not kind."

" _Never been a strong suit of mine, Wood. You would know."_

Oliver shrugs, even though Marcus wouldn't be able to see it. "Things have changed. Obviously. I just wanted to say thank you for the flowers. That was very sweet of you."

 _"You deserved them."_ Marcus says simply, and Oliver thinks his heart may be a goopy little puddle at his feet right now. 

"I'd like to thank you properly." Oliver blurts, and he should really start thinking before he acts, because not only does he not know why he said that, he doesn't know where he's going with it. "I mean, if I could get you a coffee, or something, I don't know- I know you're super busy with your law stuff and if you can't-"

 _"Wood."_ Marcus interrupts gently. " _I'd like that. A lot."_

"Oh." Oliver says, relieved. "Okay. Good. It's a date." Oliver blanches immediately. "I mean! Not that it's a date- I just say that to- you know- oh my god, I'm going to stop talking now."

Marcus is chuckling softly on the other end of the line. " _Text me a time and day. I'll clear it on my schedule. See you then, Wood."_

The last thing Oliver hears before Marcus hangs up is a quiet inhale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my tumblr: oliivverwood x


	4. one dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oliver gets up close and personal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the coffee scene: listen to "miss you (mark mccabe remix)" by gabrielle aplin  
> the dinner scene: listen to whatever  
> the club scene: "lose control" by meduza

Oliver's been fidgeting with his collar for the past two minutes, checking his watch chronically as the clock ticked towards 10. 

The wedding was two weeks from now, and there was a flurry of preparations going on. Oliver is taking a blessed hour out of his exhausting day to have coffee with Marcus.

That was it.

Just coffee.

It didn't explain why Oliver needs to wipe his clammy hands on his pants every two minutes, or why he's glancing at the door, then his watch, then his phone, then back to the door, back to his watch, back to his phone, back-

Oliver is nervous. 

He likes Marcus a little more than he's let on. 

' _If Katie was here, she'd have a riot.'_ Oliver thinks to himself, leaning his head back and closing his eyes, snorting a little. 

"What's so funny, Wood?" 

Oliver almost gets whiplash jolting his head up, his eyes flying open. 

Marcus is dropping into the seat tiredly, letting his briefcase fall to the floor, and Oliver feels a bit bad, because he looks _terrible._

"What's wrong with you?" Is what comes out of Oliver's mouth, and he's _horrified,_ about to backtrack and make an awkward mess out of everything again but-

Marcus _laughs._ A real, genuine _laugh._

It's deep and raspy and gruff and Oliver doesn't think he's ever heard anything quite like it before. 

"Tactful, Wood." Marcus snickers, and Oliver rolls his eyes, flips him off. It comes so naturally, this banter with a low undertone of flirtatiousness. It's fun. it's exciting. 

"Let me get you that coffee I owe you." Oliver says, waving over a waiter. 

When they're done ordering, Oliver folds his hands on the table smartly. 

"Seriously, what's up with you?" He asks, letting some concern seep into his voice.

Marcus groans. "Do you remember that client that called me, the one that was screwing her sister's husband?"

Oliver nods.

"Well, the sister found out, and she wants to divorce the husband. Husband didn't make her sign a prenup, so she gets half of all his liquid assets. He doesn't like that at all." 

"Who's case are you defending?" Oliver asks curiously. 

Marcus sends him a strange look. "The wife, of course. He didn't make her sign a prenup, _and_ he fucked her sister. It might be one of the easiest cases I'll ever take. The sister and husband are being pains, though." 

Their conversation flows smoothly, sharing work anecdotes and the more playful university memories that they _somewhat_ shared. Oliver tells Marcus more details about wedding planning, how the business had started, some of his famous clients. Marcus listens with attention, asking questions and giving opinions. They don't stop sharing half-hearted insults and smartass remarks, but Oliver's having a good time. 

A _really_ good time.

Such a good time, in fact, that his time's almost up, and he has to get all the way to Queens to negotiate costs with a band. 

"Fuck!" Oliver groans. "I'm going to be late. I totally lost track of the time. I'm so sorry, Marcus, I've got to go- I've already paid the bill." 

Marcus looks surprised. "Did you just call me Marcus?" 

Oliver stops, his eyes widening, and he frowned. "Did I?"

Marcus grins, a genuine, honest-to-god _smile_ , and the crooked teeth and lopsided jaw is just so _endearing_ to Oliver. "You totally did." 

Oliver rolls his eyes, knowing his face is bright red. "Well, then it's only fair that you get an _Oliver_ pass."

"Okay- _Oliver."_ Marcus tests out, and Oliver ducks his head, trying his best to hide the curve of his mouth. "See you next time, then."

Oliver's heart pounds at the idea of a next time. 

"Next time." He calls, before dashing out onto the street to hail a cab.

When he gets in, he sinks into the dirty leather and the car fumes and lets a goofy beam creep onto his face.

* * *

"I'm starting to not believe Flint is the cranky shark that everyone in the city makes him out to be." Angelina crosses her arms, snorting.

They're taking a dinner break after the _madness_ of the day- the band manager was sick with the flu, and the lead singer had been such a _nuisance-_ strumming at his stupid guitar while they were in the middle of a _conversation._

"Oh, he's still a grump." Oliver says absently, drumming his fingers against the table mindlessly. "He cussed out a taxi driver the other day- Lord, you should've seen it, it was hilarious. He used every curse word under the sun. Then some random yelled at the driver that he was _'Marcus Flint'-"_ Oliver mimics a high pitched trill for effect. "- and the driver looked like he was going to throw up. Flint was so _pleased_ with himself afterwards, that bastard... do I have something on my face? Why are you looking at me like that?"

Angelina chuckles, raising her eyebrows innocently. "I just think you and Flint are getting awfully close. He bought you flowers, you took him out to coffee, you like him-" at the sight of his face, Angelina swallows her words hastily "- I don't know, I'm just thinking out loud-"

"Stop thinking!" Oliver hisses. "Head _empty_. No thinking." 

"You're _so_ dumb." Angelina retorts. "Everyone and their _mom_ could tell from _miles_ away that he's super into you." 

"I-" Oliver's blanking, his mouth running out of snippy remarks to snap back with, and he's getting dangerously close to giving up.

"No, _you."_

Eloquent. Succinct. It's not Oliver's best work, but it'll have to do.

Angelina gasps, before breaking into giggles, which turns into laughter, which becomes full on guffawing. "You're _ridiculous._ ' _No, you?'_ Oliver, ask him _out."_

"No!" He whines. "I have a business to run. It would be highly unprofessional."

"So what would you do if he asked you out?" 

Oliver's mouth falls open, but no sounds come out, and he _knows_ he looks stupid, his mouth gaping like a fish. 

_What would he do?_

What's stopping him? 

They've grown past their history, becoming acquaintances- no, _friends,_ even. They have common interests in sports, busy jobs, mutual friends, university. Marcus seems to let down a guard when he's with Oliver- Oliver, who's only really seen glimpses of the infamous lawyer persona of Marcus Flint, flashes of his well known reputation and status in the city. A side that everyone else has apparently seen, perhaps _experienced._

But not Oliver.

Why is Marcus _hiding_ it from him? 

Oliver frowns. 

Or is Marcus actually isn't hiding anything at all.

Everyone else sees a screen of smoke and mirrors- and Oliver sees him, the _real_ him, the one that designs flower combinations and remembers his coffee order and the one that mumbles and blushes and stumbles over simple sentences and says sappy things like " _you deserved them"_ when he sends an expensive bouquet. 

"Hey." Angelina says softly, and Oliver jumps out of his daze, facing a concerned Angelina. "We don't have tot talk about it, if you don't want to- I was just teasing." 

Oliver shakes his head, smiling a little to ease her nerves. "Don't worry about it. Drinks?" 

* * *

Oliver's been invited to Graham's bachelor party. 

It's a surprise, but a welcome one- Oliver's planned a countless number weddings for people, rich and poor, young and old, but he can count on one hand how many bachelor parties he's been a part of- most of them being from weddings he organised for his friends.

"Diagon- it's a hot new club downtown, and Marcus booked a table- I don't know much else about it, to be honest." Graham says, somewhat nervously. "You've done so much for us- Daph and I- and I'd love it if you could come. No pressure. You and Weasley- Astoria's invited Bell and Johnson to the bachelorette. And Weasley- God, I mean _Percy_ will be there too- there's so many of them- so, yeah." 

Oliver chuckles a bit at Graham's poorly concealed anxiety. "I'd love to come. Where can I get the details?" 

Graham perks up. "Oh! I'll get Marcus to text them to you. He's organising the whole damn thing- I'm a little scared, to be honest." 

"You'll have fun." Oliver soothes. "Your last stag night. Less than a week to go till the wedding! You can go crazy."

"Not too crazy." Graham jokes stupidly. "Daphne will have my head."

Oliver laughs. "Thanks, Montague. I'll be there." 

* * *

Diagon is decidedly _not_ Oliver's scene.

Oliver can't hear his own voice over the bass of the music, being shoved around carelessly amongst the thrum of sweaty, gyrating, _drunk_ bodies. The air smells boozy, sour with tequila and vodka and _people._ In a corner, he sees two girls dry humping each other, their tongues halfway down each other's throats, and Oliver groans. 

It doesn't take him long before he's at the table, and the boys are already there. Graham's got a silly plastic crown on his head, waving a bottle of champagne around haphazardly while Marcus looks at him warily. 

Marcus. 

Oliver gulps. 

"Wood- _Oliver."_ Marcus beckons him, and he's not all too sober himself, but Oliver appreciates the valiant effort he's making to act like he is. " _Help_."

Oliver gently pries away the uncorked bottle of champagne out of Graham's hand, and carelessly takes a swig, throwing his head back and letting it pour down his throat. 

"Fuck, Ollie!" George crows. "Not wasting time?"

Oliver snorts. "I need to catch up with you fucks before I'm put on sober duty." 

Adrian and Terence are sitting together next to Graham, their hands laced together calmly, and they're a cute couple, really- Adrian looks too happy and innocent to be in a devilish and evil place like this, and he's only nursing a beer- for fuck's sake, it's a _bachelor_ party. 

Oliver chugs at the champagne again. He can feel Marcus' eyes on him. 

"Shots!" Warrington announces, and suddenly there's a tray of at _least_ twenty tall shot glasses of vodka there, and Oliver's stomach protests at the mere _sight._

Oliver reaches for two, and pounds them back, left, then right. 

"Oliver- _relax._ " Marcus slurs, grabbing his arm and pulling him down onto the seat next to him. "The alcohol's not goin' anywhere." 

Oliver sticks his tongue out- _maturely,_ and takes another shot, wincing slightly at the burn. 

They kill a half hour, steadily getting drunker, drunker, _drunker,_ but Oliver's not quite ready to get wasted yet. The dance floor is calling to him- the music doesn't feel as loud anymore, and the glowing panels on the ground covered by stomping, raging people appeals to him. 

Adrian and Terence had already been grinding for twenty minutes, closer than Oliver had ever seen them together, their mouths inches apart and they only have eyes for each other, _only_ each other, their hands moving softly up and down their arms and hips. It's an alcohol-soaked love letter, whispers of confessions drowned out by too-loud music, and Oliver feels like he's watching something private. 

"I'm- I'm gonna dance!" Oliver shouts, but Graham and George are in a heated argument with Bole about the superiority of Pepsi to Coke, so he excuses himself, fighting the temptation to look at Marcus. 

He lets his body loose, starting slow, moving gently, and he's dancing with this pretty girl who's definitely _not_ his type, too blonde, too short, too _feminine_ for his tastes right now, but he's having fun. 

"Don't worry." She shouts in his ear. "You're not my type either!" 

Oliver groans aloud when he realises he said that aloud, and he's ready to apologise when she opens her mouth again. 

"You're not a girl!" She giggles. 

Oliver laughs, putting his hands on her waist comfortably, and she lets him. "I'm not!"

"Nothing like dancing with a stranger though, eh?" 

Oliver smiles at her, and then they let the music devour the silence between them, and they just _move._ Oliver hasn't felt so free in a while. He's sweaty, his brown curls matted to his neck with sweat, and he opens his shirt a little more, just the second and third buttons-

"All or nothing, baby!" The girl yells, and she tears his shirt open, the buttons popping out easily, and Oliver's really _too_ drunk to care. 

It's seconds later- seconds that feel like _hours,_ that Oliver feels an aggressive grip on his waist, someone's hips close behind him- thick fingers and strong knuckles and masculine wrists and the girl disappears into the crowd, stumbling through the masses. 

"I hope you're aware your shirt's open." A deep voice mutters into his ear, and Oliver's heart almost comes up his _throat._

"Didn't take you for a dancer, Marcus Flint." Oliver leans his head back, and they're pasted together, swinging their bodies to the beat. "\

"I'm really not!" Marcus exclaims, and he twirls Oliver around till they're face to face. "She was a bit handsy, though." 

Oliver feels heat rising to his face, and he can't blame the earlier vodka for it, or the heat from the dance floor. "Jealous?"

Marcus stays quiet, a small smirk playing at his lips and it's so _nostalgic-_ university Marcus smirking at him across the courtyard, snappy and snarky and it's the _bite_ of adrenaline that Oliver _relishes_ when they used to fight. 

It makes Oliver's pulse jump. 

The music turns sultry, and the quickly gyrating bodies slow down into a tenuous grind. They change rhythm, and Oliver puts his arms around Marcus's shoulders.

They're close.

 _Really_ close. 

Oliver could count the blurry freckles dusting Marcus' cheekbones, and the flecks of gold in his hazel eyes, bright under the flashing lights. Marcus throws his head back, and Oliver's eyes latch on to the pale expanse, his Adam's apple bobbing, veins creeping up his neck, and it's gone too soon.

"See something you like?" Marcus remarks snarkily, but his grip on Oliver's waist doesn't loosen- in fact, it might get _tighter._

Oliver brings his head closer to Marcus', noting the widening eyes before he swerves, mumbling into his ear, "you're a dirty flirt, Flint."

Marcus grins, bright and easy, and his crooked teeth are on show. Oliver's never felt so infatuated in his life. 

The music is reaching it's peak, and Oliver and Marcus' faces are inches apart, heat heavy between intermingling, ragged breaths. Their eyes are on each other, _only_ each other, and Oliver's barely registering the other people near to them. 

Oliver knows what's coming. 

The beat drops, and finally the space is _gone,_ and Marcus tastes like vodka and champagne and mint mouthwash and Oliver can't get enough, will _never_ get enough. 

The song is long over by the time they break apart, and it's soon, too soon, but Oliver takes what he can get.

"Come with me to the wedding." Marcus blurts, and he's not cool, composed, _anything,_ and Oliver feels so so _so_ lucky that he gets to see _this_ Marcus, the one New York will never get to see. It feels like a secret. 

"I'm already going to the wedding." Oliver asks confusedly, still rocking his hips in time with Marcus'. 

"I know _that."_ Marcus rolls his eyes. "Come with _me._ As my date." 

Oliver doesn't try and hide his smile. 

"Okay." Oliver says softly, resting his forehead against Marcus'. "I will." 

* * *

_Oliver and Co._

**george:** oliver

 **george:** no fcyjing way

 **george:** no fyusng WAY

 **katie:** whAt!?!??!

 **angelina:** what dif olverr do

 **george:** if my eyee wernt misatekng me

 **george:** he was making ouy w fkint

 **katie:** no WAYYYYYYYYYYYYY

 **angelina:** fUCK ofd!!!!!!!!

 **george:** he lef the cub

 **george:** whych mens hes on his phnoe

 **geoge:** @oliver explan

 **katie:** @oliver explain

 **angelina:** @oliver @oliver @oliver

 **oliver:** shuy up u nosy fycks

 **oliver:** he ased me ro the wednidg as his date

 **katie:** angie jus dropped her phone

 **katie:** angie jst crackd her phone

 **george:** get INNNNNNNNNNNNN

 **oliver:** im geting in a cab dont txt me or ill throw up

 **oliver:** text me trn BYE

 **katie:** i wan detais tmr

 **george:** me 2

 **katie:** so does angie 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments are MUCH appreciated x  
> my tumblr is @olivverwood  
> the next chapter is the LAST


	5. down the aisle, i see you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the wedding

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the last chapter! thank you to everyone who read this far <3  
> if u would like to liveblog or chat with me, my tumblr is @oliivverwood and i follow the tags #oliivverwood and #sadie18

The days leading up to the wedding are messy.

There are papers flying all over his office, Oliver's phone is buzzing every two minutes, and he can faintly hear George shrieking at someone through the phone in the next room. 

Just because he's used to it doesn't make it any less exhausting. 

A bright spot in his day is Marcus. 

Marcus Flint takes the precious, precious time out of his day to stop by Oliver's office and bring all of them coffee and muffins- it's _so_ sweet, and Oliver's heart pretty much falls out of his chest every time he sees him push through the door, his phone between his head and his shoulder, drop off the goods. He presses a kiss to Oliver's cheek and leaves again without a word. They're busy, and he _gets_ it. 

"Where do I get one?" Katie grumbles through a mouthful of blueberry muffin. "I want someone to bring me food." 

"You don't have UberEats on your phone, Katiekins?" Angelina snickers, yelping when Katie smacks her. 

"Alicia's been asking after you." Oliver mentions casually, not looking up from his phone. He's sending a quick thank you text to Marcus, who's a remarkably slow typer, so he slides his phone back into his pocket. 

"Shut up." Katie mumbles, but she's blushing, and Oliver wiggles his eyebrows at her cheekily. " _Shut up!"_

"Alicia's very pretty, you know." He continues. "And she's single. And a baker. Have I mentioned she's a baker?" 

Katie looks at him, expression deadpan. "I go with you to almost _all_ the cake-tastings." 

"Checks off all your requirements, doesn't it?" Angelina giggles. "Pretty, single, makes very good food." 

"You guys make me sound _so_ shallow, oh my _god-"_

They spend their hours bickering in between phone calls, contracts and papers, flicking each other as they walked by, flipping each other off from across the office- Oliver loves them so, oh does he _love_ them. They're family. 

He wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. 

* * *

Oliver's at the wedding early, of course, first thing in the morning for a final check. Daphne is somewhere getting her hair done, and Graham's at breakfast with his friends. 

The Warrington Ballroom _is_ gorgeous, Oliver can finally admit, with the elegant gold accents and cream coloured walls, glittering chandeliers adorning the walls. The final flower delivery had come, and the aisle looked beautiful. 

The ceremony and reception were to take place in the same room- it was large enough to do so, and Daphne had thought it unreasonable to make people travel to and from. It was thoughtful of her. 

Oliver takes a moment to sit down on one of the laced chairs, strumming his fingers softly against his thigh. He can smell the flowers, the scent gently wafting through the ballroom. 

Oliver can imagine Graham at his breakfast right now, unable to eat, stomach wound up in knots of nerves while Adrian and Higgs and Marcus and his friends pat his back and feed him soothing affirmations. Marcus is probably rolling his eyes at his friends theatrics, but he sits by him anyways, listening calmly as Graham mumbles through his anxiety, throwing back one-too-many shots of espresso. 

Oliver can imagine Daphne at the hairdressers, a picture of calamity, of course, because what is Daphne Greengrass if not put together? There's probably only one sign of her restlessness, something subtle, like a tapping foot, drumming of newly-done fingernails, a quiet lip bit. Astoria's probably watching her through the mirror proudly, her big sister ready for a new chapter in her life. 

Oliver _wants it._ He wants _all_ of it. 

He wants the first thing he wakes up to be the smell of that someone making coffee in the morning, that someone pressing a light, chaste peck to his lips before going to work. He wants to smile at his phone after receiving silly texts, and he wants Katie to tease him and mock him. He wants to come home after a long day at work and collapse into the arms of that someone. He wants those arguments, the ones that are only born because they _care,_ care _fiercely._ He wants the mumbled apologies and soft words of forgiveness. He wants to wake up on his wedding day with his heart flitting out of his chest, his friends cheering him on, and he wants the tears of happiness to roll down his face as he walks down the aisle towards that someone. 

He thinks of Marcus. 

Oliver smiles to himself brightly, knowing now that everything, _all of it,_ is a possibility. 

* * *

"Wood!" Adrian Pucey almost slams into him, with how fast he's going, and hastily straightens Oliver's lapels for him sheepishly. "Graham's having a little freakout in the back. You know how to deal with this type of thing, yeah?"

He's already being pushed towards the door before he can even open his mouth, and _damn_ Adrian's professional hockey strength, manhandling him like he's a hockey stick and not a fully grown man. 

"I'm going!" Oliver chuckles, shooing him away. "Go find Katie, get ready!" 

Graham is pacing back and forth in the room, wringing his hands. 

"Montague." Oliver snaps his fingers. "Earth to Montague?" 

Graham's head jolts up, and his face splits with relief. "Thank god! I thought you were my mother again." 

Oliver snorts. "Quit pacing and tell me what's bothering you." 

Graham doesn't quit pacing, and Oliver's not good enough at bad-cop to force him to stop, but he does start talking. 

"I'm nervous! I love Daphne, man, I love her to _pieces-_ but we only met because our parents set us up! For social strength and the whatnot- all that elitist bullshit, whatever. What if this whole thing-" Graham waves his hands wildly, gesturing at everything and nothing. "Is a sham?" 

Oliver's lips quirk up. "I'll make it simple for you. It doesn't matter how you met. Do you love her?" 

"Honestly, Wood, did you not _just_ hear what I- _yes,_ I love her. I'd follow her through hell and back." 

Oliver's heart softens just a little, because how could it not? Daphne didn't even _know_ that Graham was talking about her to his once-rival like she was the sun. 

"Does she love you?" 

Graham's eyes widen, and Oliver curses inwardly, cutting him off. "Stupid question, of course she loves you. You two love each other _dearly._ Why else would you come to me, when we _despised_ each other, so you could have the perfect wedding? So you could have a perfect day to celebrate the two of you?"

"Tooting your own horn a bit, are we?" Graham mutters. 

"Shush. Nothing's really going to change between you- it's just all official and the lark." Oliver says calmly. 

"And even if it _doesn't_ work out, you have New York's best divorce attorney on your side." A voice comes from the door, and Marcus is leaning against the doorframe. The way the tuxedo clings to him, his cocky smirk, how his eyes light up at the sight of Oliver- 

"God, you two are _revolting."_ Graham says under his breath, but it lacks malice. 

"Who's tooting their own horn now?" Oliver says lightly, adjusting Marcus' tie. "What are you doing here? You should be getting ready soon!"

Marcus pouts. "Wanted to say hi." 

"You've said it." Oliver leans forward bravely, pecking him on the mouth. "Now go. Save me a dance." 

Marcus' whole face beams, and he squeezes Oliver's hand once before walking off, turning around to look at Oliver once more. 

Oliver turns to Graham, who's wagging a finger at him playfully. 

"Mark my words." Graham says, sounding calmer than he had all day. "One day, our positions will be switched, and _I'll_ be the one giving the pep talk."

Oliver's eyes roll so hard it's a wonder that he can't see the insides of his head, but secretly, he hopes Graham is telling the truth. 

* * *

Daphne looks ethereal, walking down the aisle, her flowing white dress giving the impression that she was walking on a cloud. Her face is cracked open with emotion that Oliver had never seen from her. Graham is subtly trying to wipe tears away from where he stands at the altar, giggling to himself slightly. 

Oliver looks around the wedding with a tinge of pride. The band is playing some soft ballad that Oliver can't remember the name of, but it tugs at his heartstrings anyways, and he can't help the pull of his head as it turns to face Marcus. 

Marcus has a grin pasted on his face, watching his best friend get married, his hand patting Graham's shoulder gently before moving away as they begin the ceremony. 

There's not a dry eye in the house when Graham's voice cracks on his vows, his hands shaking as he slips the ring on Daphne's finger. Daphne recites her vows with the same grace and dignity she does _anything_ with, but she's smiling too. Astoria's hands are clutched together in the back, looking at her sister proudly. 

Cheers go up when they begin their walk down the aisle, catcalls and hoots directed at the married couple. They throw petals at the aisle, and Graham sweeps Daphne off her feet into a bridal carry as the walk. She yelps loudly, eliciting laughs from the crowd, but she's wraps her arms tightly around him, chuckling. 

* * *

Oliver is met with many " _congratulations, wow, the wedding was beautiful, can you plan my wedding?"_ after the ceremony was finished, as the the reception was about to begin. He smiles, nods, says quiet "thank yous" and blushes bashfully. Katie and George are revelling in the attention, preening under the affections of New York's most elite. 

Oliver watches his friends- no, _family,_ all together at this wedding. He grins when Fred grabs Angelina around the waist and spins her to the beat of the music. He watched Harry and Draco snark at each other, pretending they weren't making googly-eyes at the same time. Ginny and Luna talked in hushed tones, their hands intertwined loosely. Alicia was talking about cakes animatedly while Katie gazed at her adoringly. Oliver snickers. He'll bring that up later. 

Weddings had a funny way of bringing strange individuals together. 

The reception began without a hitch, the band now in full swing, people laughing and chattering over good food and even better company. 

The first dance between Graham and Daphne was beautiful- he'd lost his jacket, and she'd discarded of her shoes- it was raw, untouched and emotional, and they only had eyes for each other as everyone watched on with a sigh. 

Afterwards, Daphne smushed some cake into Graham's face. She threw the bouquet, shrieking excitedly when Astoria caught it. People are dirty dancing to the fast music, pairing off to the slow.

"Hi." Arms wrap around Oliver's waist easily, and he flinches before he melts into the touch. "The wedding went perfectly." 

"I know." Oliver says haughtily, and Marcus whirls him around so their facing one another. "I was the wedding planner, after all." 

Marcus pulls him closer. "But more importantly, you're my _date_ to this wedding. I believe I owe you a dance?" 

Oliver can't help the blush that crawls on his face. "I believe you do." 

They find their way to the floor, and Oliver is gently reminded of the bachelor's party that began it all. Marcus' hands sit comfortably on his waist, while Oliver has his arms around Marcus' neck, swaying gently to the music. 

"Pretty epic first date." Oliver groans. "That's going to be hard to top." 

Marcus snickers. "I'm sure you can find a way to make it up to me." 

Oliver's eyes glint, and he takes a moment to kiss Marcus, quickly and softly. 

"I'm sure I can." He says. 

Draco Malfoy walks by at this exact moment, and he makes a face. "Oh, you two are _disgusting."_

Marcus snorts at him. "Don't let Potter get too lonely, Malfoy. Off with you." 

The two of them giggle as Draco Malfoy goes from pale to pink in seconds. 

Oliver can get used this, he thinks, burrowing his face into Marcus' neck. 

He can definitely get used to this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kudos and comments appreciated x

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are appreciated <3


End file.
